Let's Play A Game
by LockedInFantasy
Summary: John Watson should have known that this would get out of hand.


At the time, it had seemed like a harmless, fun idea. Sherlock was bored, Mary was over, and Greg Lestrade was planning to drop by after work. Really, suggestion hadn't been that ridiculous, and with any normal people, it would have been absolutely fine. But John Watson had forgotten to factor in one tiny little detail and that detail was that his three companions were all fucking insane.

So yes, John did get himself into this situation by coming up with this bloody ridiculous idea, and yes, he should absolutely have known how that particular situation would end. But John Hamish Watson will say on record to anyone who asks that the events of the evening in question were emphatically not his fault and if anyone has a problem, complaint or lawsuit (getting to that later) they should direct their attention and irate disbelief towards the three adult children who John Watson is forced to endure on a daily basis. All John had done was start the events of the evening in motion with the usually harmless phrase "Let's play a game."

His second mistake was letting Sherlock pick what game they play. After much internal debate – "You said I could choose, so give me a chance to choose John!" – Sherlock eventually settled on Jenga. As games go, John was fairly sure that this would be perfectly fine, and would not end the way Cluedo had ended two years ago, when Sherlock threw a tantrum and stabbed the board because apparently, when a certain consulting detective does not win, it means the rules are wrong. You could not argue about the rules of Jenga. Jenga's rules are pretty much undebatable, and it's impossible to cheat. Or so John thought before this particular evening.

But that was not it. Oh no, not only had he allowed a mischievous consulting detective to pick out a game, but he had also allowed his wonderful, gorgeous and completely mental fiancée to get said consulting detective and everyone else present nicely drunk on red wine. John has no answer when asked why he did not see disaster coming.

* * *

"You were moving the table, that wasn't fair! I should get another turn."

"I wasn't moving anything!"

"Yes you were, I wouldn't have knocked it over if you hadn't been! Unlike you, I do have a steady hand," Sherlock insisted with a pout. Mary mimicked it and shook her head.

"I so was not cheating. That was all you, Sherlock," she retorted.

"You're lying and I can tell in multiple ways. Firstly, your eyes-"

"Alright! Alright, ladies, please," John interrupted, glaring at both of them. Bunch of kids. Why the hell did he like both of them so much? "It's just a game," he reminded them both. Mary nodded and sat back, but muttered something into her wine glass that sounded suspiciously like "And I didn't cheat at it." Sherlock just pouted some more, but mercifully the game remained unstabbed and he was willing to set it up again and continue.

* * *

"Hey, I have an idea," Greg said with a wicked grin that really should have been a warning sign. "Let's make this into a drinking game."

"Yeah!" Mary grinned enthusiastically. "If you make it fall, you down a full glass of wine. And if you laugh, you do a vodka shot. I think we have some in the kitchen."

Sherlock snorted derisively. "That sounds completely ridiculous."

"Only because you can't hold your liquor and you're afraid you'll lose," John retorted. In retrospect, he really should have stopped this before they all got too drunk, but he didn't. He let it all happen.

* * *

"Sherlock, get _off_!" Greg snapped suddenly just as he was about to remove a block.

"What?" Sherlock asked in an innocent voice that fooled absolutely no one at all.

"You're rubbing my bloody thigh! Trying to make me lose, you cheat."

"I am not, I would never-" Sherlock began, then stopped at the looks on everyone else's faces. The fact of the matter, and everyone knew it, was that even if Sherlock hadn't been rubbing Greg's thigh under the table (which he totally was), it was still exactly the sort of thing that the six foot man child would do. Especially considering the fact that the pair of them had recently begun what could definitely be referred to as a relationship and what little boundaries that had been there before were now completely and utterly non-existent. But bizarrely, Sherlock still refused to call it 'dating' or 'a relationship'. If you were to ask him, he would tell you simply that it was none of your business or, if you were sufficiently close to him, that Greg Lestrade is a man of whom a certain consulting detective is very fond and that they both enjoy doing things together and having a lot of sex, something which Sherlock is not particularly shy about mentioning if he deems it necessary (he often deems it necessary when it is really not necessary or remotely appropriate; on multiple occasions he has been told to shut the hell up right now God damn it Sherlock). But they are not, emphatically _not_, boyfriends because according to Sherlock, that word is stupid and juvenile.

Whether or not he uses the word is irrelevant, however, because Mary Morstan does and not even Sherlock can stop her. "Will you two get a room if you're going to start fondling each other? If not, Greg, control your boyfriend," she teased, grinning widely before sipping her wine and surveying the look on the men's faces. Sherlock looked irritated. Greg looked embarrassed. John looked pretty much done with the lot of them. "And Sherlock, you have to do a shot," Mary continued.

"What? But I didn't laugh! Why do I need to do that?"

"Because you're a filthy cheater, and the new rule says filthy cheaters do a shot."

"Then you have to do one for earlier," Sherlock retorted. "When you moved the table."

"Do not!"

"You do."

"So do not."

"Oh for God's sake, can we add a penalty for stupid arguing?" John asked, his head in his hands.

* * *

By the tenth time the blocks were knocked over, after only thirty seconds, Greg sat back and downed his wine. "I'm too drunk for this shit," he declared, slurring ever so slightly.

"Agreed," Mary said with a little giggle, then threw one of the blocks at Greg's head. He missed and hit Sherlock, who scowled and threw one back at her. She giggled again and retaliated. One of them blocks hit John, who gasped and despite wanting to act mature, he couldn't resist throwing one back. She ducked in time and Greg was hit. The mini block war continued for several minutes until one badly thrown block hit a lamp and knocked it over and… out of the open window, onto the street below. An American man started to yell and swear at them. "Shiiiiit," Greg said, biting back a laugh. "Oh, Mrs Hudson is going to kill you!"

"Not if she doesn't find out," Sherlock insisted and got unsteadily to his feet. "We can… do something."

"What?" John asked incredulously. "How're you going to fix that?"

"Somehow," Sherlock said slowly. He walked over to the window and looked out, onto the street. At least it hadn't hit a person. He'd be in even more trouble if it had. But the very angry American tourist was glaring up at him and giving him the middle finger. Greg joined him at the window and stuck up his own middle finger. "Well fuck you too!" he slurred before pulling Sherlock into a sloppy kiss in full view of the still shouting man.

"I'll call the police!"

"I am the police, mate!" Greg yelled, pulling apart from Sherlock momentarily.

"Jenga's boring, let's play something else," Sherlock announced when he sat back down after the man had finally gone away. Sherlock supposed he had gotten sick of shouting at people who were clearly not bothered by what he had to say. But hopefully he wouldn't call anyone, since having policemen who weren't Greg show up would put an end to the evening, and it was just getting good.

"Truth or dare?" Mary suggested with a wicked grin.

"Oh, why the hell not?" John said with a grin, taking a sip of wine. He hadn't played truth or dare since he was a teenager and it could be fun, he supposed. Mistake number five of the evening.


End file.
